


to make one out of two

by aibari



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Codependency, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Science, M/M, Mind Meld, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Treebros, minor and unrequited evan/zoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibari/pseuds/aibari
Summary: Evan hopes he'll be less of a mess by the time he meets his soulmate, but a brush of fingers in the school computer lab gets in the way of that.





	1. Computer Lab Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I've always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with soulmate AUs, so the only solution, clearly, is to write one myself. Unlike Wilder Things, I don't really have a clear plot planned out for this - it's very much a work in progress! Expect soulmate-related worldbuilding, teen drama, and weird soulmate bond side-effects. I'll update the tags as I go.
> 
> General warnings: minor references to suicidal ideation, minor recreational drug use (as you might expect from fics in this fandom)
> 
> In this chapter: Birthday pens and markers.

The mark shows up on his thirteenth birthday, blooming on the inside of his wrist like ink in water.

His mom bursts into tears when she sees it.

"Oh, honey," she says, beaming at him over a store-bought birthday cake with bright blue frosting. "That's amazing, I told you it was only a matter of time."

Evan smiles back.

"Yeah," he says, dizzy with sugar and relief. Then they watch sitcoms and eat popcorn until he falls asleep on the couch. His mom keeps touching her wrist the entire time when she thinks he isn't looking, when she forgets not to, fingers pressing into the soft, unmarked skin like she's trying to leave a bruise.

-

He thinks about that birthday a lot. At fourteen, fifteen, seventeen, he's still staring up at his bedroom ceiling in the dark, still sick with relief, still tasting phantom frosting in the back of his mouth.

The mark shows up with puberty, and resolves into a name when you meet your soulmate. It's pretty straightforward in practice. You get your mark and find your soulmate, and then you both live happily ever after. The theory behind it is messier; no-one can ever seem to agree if it works because of brain wave patterns or quantum entanglement or the grace of a higher power. Evan was obsessed about it when he got his mark, and spent the first two months afterwards obsessively reading about soulmate connection theory and biological imperatives on the internet.

Most people get their marks before thirteen. Most people get their marks before _eleven_ , and after his eleventh birthday, Evan had come to terms with the fact that he wouldn't get one, more or less.

It had made sense to him, at least. He was already sweating bullets whenever he tried to talk to people. He already stuttered and failed to finish sentences, unless he was talking about something he liked, and then he couldn't shut up, even when the person he was talking to got that glazed, faraway look in their eyes. It made sense if no-one could stand to be around that for too long.

Then he'd gotten the mark, and it was suddenly a bit easier to breathe.

He doesn't know when he went from elaborate fantasies of touching some girl's hand and having his mark resolve itself into the letters of her name, of how she would get him and he would be _better -_

He doesn't know when he went from that to the rock solid knowledge that if he meets her now, before he can find a way to be a less, to be less of a sweaty disaster, she's going to be the first person in the history of mankind to resent her soulmate, and _he_ won't be able to get better because he'll be constantly anxious because she'll always be _there_ , resenting him for not being the partner she deserves.

So he's hoping he'll meet his soulmate after college.

He thinks that's a reasonable time frame. He can get his shit together by then, probably.

Of course, the first step of that plan is to get to college, and to be able to pay for college, and to get good enough grades to maybe qualify for some kind of scholarship.

He can do that, probably.

Before he can get there, though, he lies awake in his bedroom, and he is seventeen and waiting for summer vacation.

In the dark, he can feel some part of his soul reaching out, grasping blindly for someone who isn't there yet.

-

The cast covers up Evan's mark, and it makes him feel off-center and a bit paranoid. Like maybe he'll meet his soulmate somewhere while his cast is on and not realize it, and because his mark is covered up, he won't see when it resolves, and he won't be able to find them again when he realizes, and then he'll go through the rest of his life looking for them and then they'll both die alone.

It's a stupid thought that makes no sense and he knows it, but he can't shake it. He tries very hard not to think about it.

Instead, he spends the rest of the summer rereading _Harry Potter_ and watching standup comedy on Netflix. He does his summer reading. He sleeps a lot.

The house is so empty in the daytime.

His mom asks gentle and encouraging questions about therapy and the letters Doctor Sherman is making him write. She calls him from work to tell him she's working overtime, or that she's taking over someone's shift, but school hasn't started yet and he thinks she feels bad about the whole broken arm thing, so she's still home more than usual. They eat stuff that isn't pizza. Sometimes, he'll catch her looking at him with a small, worried frown, and he'll open his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing ever comes out.

-

Then it's the first day of school, and no-one signs his cast. Connor Murphy shoves him in the hallway, but Zoe Murphy comes up to him afterwards to apologize, so it could have been worse.

“Sorry about my brother,” she says, with an awkward smile. Her hair falls around her face in gentle waves, and it makes his chest hurt. He wants to tuck her hair behind her ear. He wants to hold her hand.

“Don't – don't worry about it,” he says, and means it.

“I'm Zoe,” she says, reaching out her hand, and he's halfway to shaking it when he realizes how sweaty his palms are, and -

And he doesn't want to touch her, he doesn't want to, because at least like this he can pretend that maybe, maybe, maybe -

There's no way she's his soulmate, and if she was, he would fuck it up somehow, so it's just. That's fine. But if they don't touch, at least he can pretend.

Then he bombs the conversation, but she sends him an easy smile over her shoulder as she leaves for class. It could probably have been worse.

-

He needs write a therapy letter for his appointment with Doctor Sherman, so he goes to the computer lab to write it during lunch. It's empty when he gets there, and quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning, the whirr of the ancient computer as he powers it up.

He types up the letter, and it ends up more depressing than he wants it to. It's not “in the spirit of the exercise”, but his mom won't be home tonight and Jared is only friends with him for the car insurance and he landed on the wrist of his broken arm when Connor Murphy pushed him earlier, so it's kind of hard to be optimistic.

At least there's Zoe. Maybe he'll be able to talk to her some more this year.

Maybe she'll smile at him again.

Maybe someone will care that he exists.

He takes a deep breath.

He hits print.

Lunch is almost over. He gets up and picks up his backpack.

“No-one's signed your cast,” someone says.

Evan nearly trips on his chair.

Connor Murphy is standing at the end of the row of computers, holding a sheet of paper.

Evan stares at him. “I,” he says, and, “yeah,” and, “no.”

“I'll sign it,” Connor says, and comes up to him. Evan tenses up, half expecting to be shoved again. Instead, Connor frowns down at him. “Do you have a pen?”

Wordlessly, Evan pulls a marker out of his backpack and hands it to him. Connor uncaps the marker and clamps a hand down on Evan's cast, tight enough to hurt. Evan bites off a curse. Connor looks up from the cast. His eyes are bloodshot.

“Sorry,” he says.

It feels like holding his arm too tightly isn't all he's apologizing for, but he doesn't elaborate. Instead, he writes his name on Evan's cast, so large that no other name would fit even if someone _wanted_ to sign it.

“Great,” Evan manages. “Thanks.”

Connor gives him a crooked smile. He puts the cap back on the marker. He holds it out for Evan to take. “Now we can both – ”

Their fingers brush. It sparks through him like an electrical current, buzzes in his blood like a swarm of insects. Somewhere there's a ringing sound. It gets louder and louder until he can feel it in his bones. His wrist starts to sting; his vision wavers and then violently inverts, and then he's watching himself watching Connor watching –

He - they - he drops the pen. It clatters to the floor, but he can barely hear it. Something fire-hot and golden unfurls in his chest, brushing against his ribs like feathers, rushing through his body like a torrent –

Then it recedes into a quiet hum in the back of his brain. They are left staring at each other, eyes wide and mouths half-open, both struggling to catch their breath.

“That was,” Evan says, and that's how far he gets before he has to stop talking and sit down on the floor.

Connor's name is all over his cast.

Under the plaster, Connor's name is all over his wrist.

He doesn't have to see it. He already knows.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Title from Plato's _Symposium_ , because I am that guy.  
> 2\. Please ... talk 2 me about soulmate worldbuilding.......  
> 3\. If you like my style but _also_ like fairy tales and a larger, more fantastical plot, please check out [Wilder Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717813/chapters/34016180)!  
> 4\. Find me on tumblr and twitter @aibari!  
> 5\. Thank you for reading!


	2. Live Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, We Are Soulmates.

They sit together on the floor of the computer lab. For a long time, no-one says anything.

Connor's fingers are pins and needles, static electricity crackling under his skin. He rubs them together. Everything feels a bit unreal.

His elbow brushes against Hansen's arm when he moves his hands. It makes his stomach do a queasy flip.

“D-did,” Hansen says. He takes a shaky breath. “Did that just happen?”

Connor pushes the edge of his sleeve up, and there it is: Hansen's first name in careful, even handwriting. The letters stand out starkly on his wrist.

“Guess so,” he says. He feels like there's something else he should say. He's too empty and too full at the same time, and he's never been great at sorting through his feelings. Doing it now feels like trying to adjust the dials of an old radio with all the dial settings worn off; the only feeling he can pick out from the confusion in his brain is surprise.

Or maybe it's shock.

Hansen's fingers touch the edges of his name. Connor's thoughts stutter and come to an uneven halt. Hansen – _Evan –_ traces the lines of his name with a gentleness that makes Connor's breath catch in his throat. He must have made a sound, because Evan freezes and shoots him a guilty look.

“S-sorry,” he says. His fingertips stay glued to Connor's skin, right at the start of the lowercase N. “Sorry, I didn't mean to – ”

“It's fine,” Connor manages. He meets Evan's eyes, and it's like an avalanche is happening in his brain. Evan is pale and drawn in the fluorescent lights of the computer lab, but his eyes are a warm, coppery brown, and there are still freckles left over from the summer dusting the bridge of his nose, and oh. _Oh_.

This is the soulmate thing again.

Either that, or he's about to have a heart attack.

Evan's fingers flatten against the skin of Connor's wrist. If he moves his hand just a little bit further up, he's going to hit scar tissue. Connor holds himself very still.

“This is so weird,” Evan says. There's something like disbelief in his voice.

“You tell me,” Connor says.

It's not like he hadn't been aware of the possibility of finding his soulmate or anything. It had just been part of the general script of “becoming an adult”, somewhere far off into the future, like getting a full-time job or kids or a mortgage.

Not that any of those things had ever seemed very realistic.

Up until this moment, living until the end of high school hadn't seemed very realistic either.

He's going to have to, now, unless he wants to take out Evan Hansen with him. It's a bit harder to not give a fuck about the fallout when someone else is literally chained to him by the wrist.

_Soulmates_ . Fuck.

“Um,” Evan says. Then he laughs, short and nervous and hard to listen to. “Sorry, I wasn't really expecting to be doing, um, _this_? This whole s-soulmate thing. I wasn't, I didn't think I'd have to, uh, deal with it? Until like. College, I guess?”

Connor has a hard time looking at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

“I was kind of hoping,” Evan says, and then shuts his mouth so hard his teeth click together.

He doesn't say anything else. The silence stretches out between them for what feels like years.

Something has to give. This time, it's Connor.

“What happened to your arm?” he asks.

“Oh, uh,” Evan says. He shifts awkwardly. “I was climbing a tree and I fell?”

“What, really?” Connor asks. He doesn't think he's climbed a tree since fourth grade.

“Yeah,” Evan says, with another small, horrible laugh. “It's kind of funny, actually, I ended up lying there for like ten minutes, waiting to see if anyone would come get me, but then no-one came and I had to get up and find someone, which was – ” he catches the look on Connor's face “ – which was not that funny now that I'm telling you about it, actually? Sorry.”

Connor stares at him. “... okay, what the fuck.”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Evan says. He moves his hand from Connor's wrist to pick at the edge of his cast. It leaves Connor feeling more bereft than he has any right to.

“Why are you – ” He doesn't know how to finish that. Why are you apologizing? Why are you like this? Why are you moving your hand?

Jesus Christ.

Evan shrugs. He isn't looking at him.

“That sounds rough,” Connor says.

Then he has to stop himself from groaning, because who _says_ that?

“Pretty much,” Evan says, with a wry smile. He's still picking at his cast.

"Hey, don't," Connor says. He puts a hand over Evan's fingers without really thinking about it. Evan's skin is cold and kind of damp, in a vaguely amphibian way, but the touch vibrates through Connor's body like the hum of a tuning key.

Evan's breath hitches, and Connor shivers. His hand closes around Evan's without meaning to, but Evan turns his palm up and clutches back, and suddenly all Connor can think of is getting closer. He pulls Evan's towards him. Evan winces, which is when Connor remembers the cast.

"Sorry," he says, "sorry." Because this is the second - third? - time today that he's hurt Evan that way, and that's just fucking - sad.

"No," Evan says, leaning closer until he's practically in Connor's lap, "no, it's fine."

His breath is warm against Connor's throat.

Connor makes a sound high in his throat. It's _embarrassing_ , but he can't help it. He runs his arms over Evan's shoulders, slides his hands down his back, and Evan's hands are ghosting up the sides of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. Connor's skin sings where Evan touches it, and he wants, he wants, he _wants._

He presses his mouth against Evan's.

The world narrows down into a single point: Evan's lips, soft and warm and slightly chapped, moving against his own. Everything else falls away.

Evan whimpers into Connor's mouth.

Connor is going to _die_.

He fists his hand into the collar of Evan's shirt. Needs to get CLOSER, needs more contact, needs -

To pull apart and breathe, eventually.

Connor's hands are shaking.

Evan blinks at him, slow and dazed. His irises are thin, dark rings around his pupils, and it makes Connor shiver. He pulls back a bit. Evan looks away, flushing. He's sitting with his knees on either side of Connor's thighs, and it's. It's really fucking weird.

This entire situation is pretty fucking weird, actually. This morning, he pushed this guy over for laughing at him, and now they're making out in the school computer room.

And they're soulmates.

He keeps circling back to the word, moving it around like a loose tooth.

Fuck.

It usually takes people longer to find their soulmates, but the school still has a mandatory "soulmate club". There's still going to be a lot of paperwork. They'll still be considered legally an adult unit when they finish signing the paperwork.

Which is terrifying.

And people are going to freak. Connor is used to people talking shit about him and staring at him in the hallway like they think he's going to go fucking feral any second. He hates it, but people are mostly too afraid of him to fuck with him.

Is it going to be different with Evan?

Connor doesn't know him. He hadn't really noticed him until today, outside of "that quiet kid who tags along with Kleinman". He doesn't think he has any other friends, though.

He doesn't really seem like the type.

Being Connor Murphy's soulmate might make him a target.

Evan doesn't exactly look like he knows how to defend himself.

"You know what," Connor says, before he can think it through, "I think we should keep this a secret."

Evan sits a little straighter.

"Y-yeah?" He says, frowning.

"Yeah," Connor says. "Let's avoid the drama for a while."

"... Sure," Evan says. He bites his lip, still frowning, and it makes Connor's heart twinge. "If you think so."

"I do," Connor says.

"Okay, well, anyway," Evan says, getting up, "I have to get to class."

"Dude," Connor says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "There's like half an hour left by now."

"Yeah, well," Evan says, "I just really love trigonometry."

He's out of the room before Connor can say anything.

Okay. Weird.

Connor gets up, too, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and failing. Evan's marker and the paper from the printer lie abandoned on the floor. He picks them up on his way out.

He'll give them back to him tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I sat down and plotted this out and um. It's. It's going to get kind of long. Tags are going to get updated as we get further into it.  
> 2\. Find me @aibari on [tumblr](http://aibari.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/aibari) if you want to yell with me about soulmate stuff lol


	3. Magic Marker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicious behavior and bathroom graffiti.

Band practice is running late. It's one of those days when nothing sounds like it should; she keeps finding herself half a beat behind, and the brass section hits their notes sharp and sour, unprepared after the summer.

Zoe just wants to go home.

Instead, she excuses herself to the bathroom.

The hallways are empty at this point. Her footsteps echo through the empty space, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.

Outside of the noise of the auditorium, it's like the rest of the world has stopped existing. Like there is nothing left but the long, identical school hallways, and she's the only human left to experience them.

The bathroom is just as empty. One of the fluorescent ceiling lights is flickering, reflecting weirdly in the gleaming tiles. It's the first day of school, and the walls are already starting to fill up with bored teenager graffiti.

She checks her phone and touches up her lip gloss just to have something to do.

Anything to buy a couple of minutes away from the off-key, shambling disaster band practice is turning into.

She checks her hands, too, and her wrist. Her nail polish looks fine, but her mark is starting to look a bit faded.

It makes her panic a bit every time she notices.

Like one day she'll forget to draw it on properly, and someone will realize that it doesn't look right.

And then everyone will know that her mark is fake.

"It's not going to happen," she mutters, staring herself down in the mirror.

Zoe fishes a black marker out of the pocket of her jeans. She knows better than to go anywhere unprepared. It's empty enough in the building right now that she doesn't need to go for a stall. Instead, she pulls her sleeve a bit farther down.

She colors in the edges of the mark where they're starting to fade.

She has it down to a science. Has spent hours looking at magazine photos and sketchy internet pages, making sure she has the shape right. It needs to be not too big or too small, not too regular or too uneven. Just ... average.

She can do average.

She's finishing the touch-up when the bathroom door starts to open.

Zoe drops the marker.

Maya slinks into the room. She's got half an eye on her phone, but when the door closes behind her, she puts it away and looks up.

"Hey," she says. Even in the washed-out lighting of the bathrooms, she looks gorgeous. Her turquoise sweater makes her smile look even brighter than usual, and she has her dark, curly hair in a small ponytail that is so cute on her that something clenches in Zoe's chest every time she looks at her.

Zoe glances quickly at the marker on the floor. Maya doesn't seem to have noticed it.

"Hey," she says brightly. "What's up?"

Maya leans against the sink. "Babe, you are way too happy to be in the school bathrooms at six pm."

Zoe grins back. "Hey, if it gets me a break from band practice..."

Maya laughs.

The sound sends a shiver through Zoe that she tries to suppress.

"God, did you hear Liam's solo?” Maya says. “I thought Ms A was going to burst into tears."

"Ms A is always about to burst into tears,” Zoe says.

"Well, today _especially_ ," Maya says. "Anyway, we're about to start packing up and I thought I should let you know before she notices you've been hiding in the bathroom for twenty minutes."

"My hero," Zoe deadpans. It's maybe a little bit too sincere.

Maya blows her a kiss. "Babe, I'll come rescue you any time."

"Oh, yeah?" Zoe says. "Think you can impersonate me for the inevitable U.S. history quiz next Friday?"

"Oooh, miss Z," Maya says. "Not even I can get one over on Mr L like that. That nasty old man has a sixth sense for bullshit." She glances down at the floor. "What were you doing with that marker, anyway? A little bit of after-school vandalism?"

Zoe picks the marker off the floor and laughs airily. Her stomach churns. "Sometimes you just have to make your mark, you know?"

She leans over the sink, putting the marker to the tiles under the mirror. She can't think of anything funny or smart or interesting, and spends thirty seconds panicking before writing YOU LOOK NICE TODAY in neat capital letters, and then draws a couple of stars around it for good measure. “There,” she says.

“Cute,” Maya says.

“Sometimes it's nice to hear someone say it,” Zoe says. One of the stars is a bit uneven. “Write it. Whatever.”

“Hey, Zoe,” Maya says. She takes Zoe's hand and continues, so sincerely it's almost uncomfortable, “You look nice today.”

“You too,” Zoe says, relieved that her voice doesn't crack. Then she caps the marker and walks out of the bathroom, dragging Maya along by the hand.

-

Connor is sleeping in the backseat of her car.

"What the fuck," Zoe mutters, hoisting her guitar case into the front seat.

Connor blinks owlishly at her.

"How long have you been in here?" Zoe asks.

"Why do you care?" he asks.

Zoe rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

Connor sits up. He watches her walk around to the driver's seat.

Not scowling.

Not glaring or frowning or scowling.

Just watching.

_Huh_.

She slides into the seat and closes the door. Her eyes meet Connor's in the mirror.

"Driver picks the music," she says, and turns on the engine. Paramore blasts through the speakers.

Connor doesn't comment. Instead, he puts on his seatbelt and drums his fingers on his thighs. Zoe makes a face at him without meaning to.

"Are you high?" she asks, and she doesn't mean to ask, either.

He snorts, and says, almost conversationally, "Not that it's any of your fucking business, but no."

They pull out of the school parking lot.

"It's just," she says, and Connor meets her eyes in the mirror again. For a split second, the look in his eyes is -

Soft.

She can't remember seeing that look on him before.

"What," Connor says.

Zoe looks away. "It's just been a while since I've seen you look this -"

Calm.

Happy.

"- chill."

Connor is quiet for a moment. Outside, the sky is clear and bright blue. It's still a while until sunset.

"It's been an okay day, I guess," Connor says after a while.

The last time Zoe saw him, he was pushing terminally anxious, hand-in-a-cast Evan Hansen so hard he fell over.

It had seemed pretty on-brand for him, unlike … whatever this is.

"What _happened_ to you today," she says, and then winces, hands clenching briefly on the steering wheel.

Connor shrugs. "Nothing much."

But he's smiling.

_Smiling_. Softly, like he isn't really aware of doing it. Like he can't stop himself.

She can't remember the last time she saw him smile.

It makes him look like a stranger.

It makes her feel like she doesn't know him at all.

-

Connor stays weirdly mellow all night, even when Mom starts asking him if maybe he should start making plans for college and Dad looks up from his phone to tell him he'll need to work on his grades if he _is_ making plans.

It's kind of fucked up that he's like this.

It's kind of fucked up that she thinks it's fucked up.

-

Someone knocks on her door in the middle of the night. Zoe blinks herself awake and then squints into the darkness of her room, unsure if she imagined it. Her alarm clock reads 3:38. The numbers light up her bedside table with a soft, green glow.

"Zoe," Connor hisses through the door.

Zoe suppresses a groan. She doesn't want to deal with this.

"What?" she asks, sitting up, sliding out of bed.

"Open the fucking door," Connor says. "I need to talk to you."

Fear curls around her spine. It tightens like a fist.

Years ago, Connor tried to beat down her door and screamed at her that he was going to kill her. She still thinks about it a lot. Sometimes, she dreams that he's punching at her door again, screaming, but in her dreams, the door bursts open and he comes into her room and kills her.

In her dreams, Connor has stabbed her and strangled her and beaten her to death, and for a sharp, jagged second, she is sure that this is it. That he's going to kill her for real, even though she knows she's being ridiculous.

"Please,"Connor says on the other side of the door. His voice is very small.

Zoe sighs. She walks over to the door and unlocks it, and then opens it in a tiny crack.

Connor stares back at her. He's wide-eyed and pale and his hands are shoved deep into the jeans he still hasn't changed out of.

"Do you know Evan Hansen?" he asks.

The question catches her so off guard she isn't sure she heard him right. "What?"

"Evan Hansen,” Connor says, insistently. “Do you know him?"

Zoe stares at him, mouth half open. "The guy you pushed?" she asks.

Connor won't meet her eyes. "Sure."

"I mean, I've seen him around, I guess,” she says, “but I haven't really ... talked to him?"

"Okay," Connor says. He takes a deep breath. "Okay. That's good."

"What?" Zoe asks. "Why?"

"You should leave him alone," Connor says. He still won't look at her.

"Oookay," Zoe says. "That's an ask that totally makes sense, because I've spent all of five minutes talking to him in literally all of high school."

“Just do it, Zoe,” Connor snaps.

"Why does it even matter to you?" Zoe asks, and it's not fear that's building in her now; it's anger. "Maybe _you're_ the one who needs to leave him alone."

"Fuck you," Connor mutters.

"Fuck _you_ ," Zoe says. "You don't get to tell me who I can and can't -"

"Don't you have enough friends?" Connor says, ignoring her. "You don't even know him, so why are you so fucking invested? Why won't you let me -"

"Shove him around? Bully him?"

Connor freezes. There is something like panic in the look on his face.

"… No," he says. "No, just - I met him in the computer lab afterwards and we came to an understanding."

"An _understanding_ ," Zoe repeats, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice even if she'd wanted to. Connor grins at her, jagged and harsh like the shards of a broken bottle.

"Turns out," he says, teeth gleaming in the dark, "we're both losers who can use a friend."

Then Dad comes out to yell at them to go to sleep.

Afterwards, Zoe stares into the darkness of her bedroom. There is a pit in her stomach, a deep, uneasy sense of foreboding.

Because Connor was lying.

Even if they don't get along, she can always tell.

And she doesn't know what he was lying about, but Connor was lying.

She gets the feeling that Evan Hansen could use someone looking out for him.

They don't need to be friends.

But she knows what Connor is like. She isn't going to let him fuck up this guy's life, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. SWERVE! This fic has three povs.  
> 2\. Every time I look up something about American high schools it's basically just me going WHAT??? a lot. I looked up some US high school weekly schedules and yelled for ten minutes straight. Anyway what I'm trying to say is if I make any mistakes re: US high schools, please let me know!  
> 3\. As usual, you can find me @aibari on [tumblr](http://aibari.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/aibari)!


	4. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local teens argue, say "fuck" a lot.

"Holy shit," Jared says. “ _Connor Murphy_ signed your cast?”

Evan pokes listlessly at his mac and cheese. The pasta is overcooked and mushy, and the cheese has a plasticky aftertaste, but at least it's not pizza. "Yeah," he says, but it feels like he's watching himself say it, like he's a character in a high school-themed sitcom, like he could just get up and walk off set right now if he wanted, and the cafeteria would open up into a stage facing an audience of people laughing.

“What _happened_ yesterday?”

Evan shrugs, takes another bite of macaroni. He doesn't want to talk about it.

He  _especially_ doesn't want to talk about it with Jared.

The thought of – of Connor in the computer lab, of Connor kissing him like it was something he  _wanted_ to do, makes his stomach squirm, makes him want to cover his face so no-one will see him blushing.

He couldn't find his therapy letter afterwards, even though he retraced his steps and went back to the lab after class. That makes his stomach squirm, too, but that's  _definitely_ more in the stress vomit category.

Maybe Connor took it.

Maybe someone  _else_ took it.

Evan doesn't know which of those is worse.

"Whatever," Jared says. Then he launches into a long monologue about tech club. Evan eats mac and cheese and nods vaguely whenever there's a pause. He's been feeling off all morning, numb and tingly like his limbs have all fallen asleep. Like he's watching storm clouds form on the other side of a window. It's making it hard to focus.

“So?” Jared gives him an expectant look.

_Oh._

"Uh, y-yeah," Evan says.

Jared rolls his eyes. "Sorry I'm not _entertaining_ you, Acorn. I guess whatever you've got going on is way more exciting, huh?"

He bites into a soggy fry and grins at Evan, heavy with ironic expectation.

"Could you not call me that?"

"No," Jared says, "you've earned it."

"Jared - "

"Hey, Evan," Zoe Murphy says brightly from behind him. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Um," Evan manages. "No, th-that's fine."

He glances at Jared, who is doing a pretty good impression of a frog.

"Great!" Zoe says, and sits down next to him. She is wearing a flowy, purple top, and she's close enough that he can smell the floral notes of her shampoo. Yesterday at around now he was tracing the letters of his own name on her brother's wrist. If this had happened earlier, he'd be close to hyperventilating. As it is, he feels ... unsettled. Like he's slightly to the left of where he should be.

It's not that his crush on her is gone.

Not exactly.

It's still in him, somewhere, a burst of breathless excitement, but it's like his mark resolving has washed it out, stripped it of color and meaning.

It's. It's kind of fucked up.

It's not like he ever thought she was actually going to be his soulmate or anything, but so what? So what if it was never going to happen. So what if it was sad and pathetic. It was _his._

"So what's up?" Zoe asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. It takes him a moment to realize she is talking to _him_.

"Um," he says, eloquently, and, "well-"

Jared kicks his foot under the table.

"N-not much," Evan manages, trying not to wince, and then he's word-vomiting: "AP Bio is, uh, more interesting than I was expecting, haha, we went over the syllabus today and it's covering some really interesting topics -"

Jared cuts him off. "You won't believe the shit we're doing in tech club this semester, Zoe," he says, and launches into another anecdote.

Zoe barely glances at Jared the entire time he's talking, eyes fixed on Evan with an intensity that makes him nervous.

He picks at the edge of his cast.

Maybe he's fallen into an alternate universe.

"Cool," Zoe says, when Jared is done talking.

"Wh-what about you, Zoe?" Evan asks. His voice cracks a little at the end, awkward and too eager and why is she here? There is literally no reason why she should be talking to him. If it wasn't for Connor pushing him yesterday, she wouldn't even know he was alive.

"Jazz band, mostly," Zoe says, with a grin that is almost apologetic. "Everyone's pretty out of practice after the summer."

She tucks her hair behind her ear and he remembers wanting to do that for her, remembers it like an out of body experience, like a haunting.

"Oh, cool," he says, smiling. "What pieces are you doing this year?"

He likes jazz music. He's taught himself to like jazz music, because he's been to a lot of jazz band concerts and the music used to kind of stress him out, but all the concerts worked kind of like exposure therapy, and now he doesn't mind it.

Sometimes, he'll listen to jazz when he's alone, too.

Usually he thinks about Zoe when he does.

That feels weird now.

"Oh, we're doing a couple of different things," Zoe says, "like - "

A lunch tray slams down onto the table on the other side of Evan, and he flinches.

"Connor," Zoe says, sharp like a steel wire. "What the _fuck_?"

"Fuck you," Connor grinds out, and sits down. His hair falls in front of his face.

Evan's fingers twitch.

Oh.

That's where that hair tucking urge went.

"H-hey," he says. Connor isn't looking at him, but everyone else is. Evan resoloutely keeps his eyes on Connor. He doesn't want to see the look on Jared's face. "What's up?"

Connor's fingers turn white against the sides of his tray, and then forcibly relax with an effort Evan can almost _feel_.

"Oh, nothing," Connor says, with an ugly fake breeziness Evan recognizes from yesterday, when Jared called him a school shooter. "Just having lunch."

"Okay, Murphy," Jared says, "but why are you sitting _here_?"

Connor glares up through his hair. "You telling me to go somewhere else, Kleinman?"

"We're just trying to eat in peace, Connor," Zoe snaps.

"Yeah?" Connor turns towards her. His knee knocks against Evan's in the process. "Guess I should respect your wishes, then, since you're so great at respecting mine."

Zoe's mouth twists. "You can't fucking expect me to let you - "

"What?" Connor asks. "Have friends without your _supervision_? Am I not allowed to do that now?"

Zoe rolls her eyes. "That's not -"

"No-one here is friends with you," Jared sneers.

"Shut the fuck up," Connor says, scowling.

"Actually, I'm friends with him," Evan says.

And then everyone at the table is staring at him.

"Evan," Zoe says, in a soft and careful voice. "I saw him push you yesterday. You don't have to cover for him."

“I'm not fucking _forcing him_ to be my friend,” Connor snarls at her.

"He apologized," Evan says, "and, and we talked it out. He signed my cast.”

“You _apologized_?” Zoe asks.

“Why is that so fucking hard to believe?” Connor says.

Zoe crosses her arms. “Oh, no reason, it's just that you're  _you_ ?”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Zoe says. At this point, everyone in the cafeteria must be looking at them, and she seems to notice; she stiffens, and then takes a deep breath. “You know what? We're not doing this right now.” She gets up. “Evan, I'll see you later.”

Then she storms out of the cafeteria, leaving her lunch behind.

“What the _shit_ ,” Jared says, with a disbelieving little laugh. He looks at Connor. “Is everyone horny for Evan Hansen today, or is it just you two?”

Evan cringes. Any moment now, Jared is going to make a joke about him stalking Zoe Murphy's Instagram account, and then Connor is going to know he has – had? – a crush on his sister, and that's going to be really, really bad. Connor is already angry, and Evan doesn't know how he knows, but he can tell that if he lets go of the lunch tray, Connor's hands will be shaking.

He thinks that should be scary.

Yesterday morning, it would have been – yesterday morning, it  _was_ scary.

He can't find that feeling anymore. He's anxious, but it's less of a please-don't-lose-control-and-hit-me and more of a … concern, maybe. Something soft and sick and aching like a bruise.

“No-one's horny here, Kleinman,” Connor mutters. His back is ramrod straight.

“I don't know,” Jared says, picking up another fry and waving it in their general direction. “I'm pretty horny for whatever the fuck this drama is all about.”

“Jared,” Evan says. “Could you _not_?”

Jared laughs. “Oh, what, like you're not enjoying the attention? Please.”

Connor stands up, looming over the table. “What the  _fuck_ did you say to him?”

“Wow, okay,” Jared says, raising his hands in mock surrender. The fry dangles limply between his fingers. He shoots Evan a look. “See what I mean?”

Evan stares back. He might have a panic attack right here and now, actually, except that on top of the anxiety and the weird, Connor-related stuff, he's also starting to get angry.

It's less alien than the Connor-related stuff.

But not by much. Not like this.

“It's pretty sad that you can't tell actual friendship from wanting to fuck someone, actually,” Evan says. He doesn't stutter. He doesn't trip over any of the words. He just says it, and he knows he's going to feel bad about it later, but right now, he feels – pretty good, actually. Jared's mouth hangs open, and it feels … powerful, maybe, to have put that look on his face.

Evan gets up and starts walking before Jared can come up with a comeback.

Connor follows him out like a tall, angular shadow.

-

He stops him when they get out into the hallway.

“We need to talk,” he says. He won't meet Evan's eyes.

It makes Evan really, really nervous, but he swallows it down. “S-sure. What's – ?” 

“Not here.” Connor grabs his elbow and pulls him along down the hall. They take a left and then Connor is opening the door to the janitor's closet and shoving Evan inside, shutting the door behind them.

It's more of a small room than a closet. It's cooler inside than it is in the hallway, and it smells like bleach and artificial pine. Shelves on shelves of cleaning supplies and paper towels and boxes of batteries tower over them. A row of narrow windows high on the wall bathes the room in a dim, grey light. Connor leads him into the back of the room, behind a shelf of buckets and off-brand toilet paper.

“Um,” Evan says. “What's … up?”

Connor won't quite look at him. He's looking kind of green in the dim light, kind of sickly and nauseated. His hair is falling into his eyes again.

Evan reaches out without thinking and brushes it away from his face, tucks it behind his ear. His fingers graze Connor's cheek.

Connor inhales sharply and leans into the touch. His eyes flutter closed.

For a moment, they just stand there, not moving. Evan swallows thickly. There's an unfamiliar calm in him, a care so tender he might throw up. On an impulse, he leans up and places a soft, careful kiss on Connor's other cheek.

Everything is quiet inside his head.

-

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asks later. His back is up against the wall. Connor's hands are on his hips.

“Mm?” Connor blinks at him, dazed. The look sends a jolt all the way through Evan's body, but then Connor's expression changes again, turning sharper at the edges. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Evan says. It's fine. It's fine. He hasn't ruined everything by asking, it was a reasonable question to ask, he's fine he's fine he's fine.

"I read your letter," Connor says. Evan freezes.

"What?"

Connor swallows. "You wrote it, right?"

"I - yeah."

"So, what, you're in love with my _sister_?" Connor asks, and he sounds – desperate. Like he knows what the answer is going to be, but he really, really doesn't want it to be.

"No," Evan says, and it's not a lie, but it isn't the truth, either. The word tastes tinny in his mouth. "No, I -"

"Then what, Evan? Were you trying to fuck with me?"

"I wasn't -"

"Then what _was_ it?" Connor snaps.

And he's not going to get it. He's not going to get this, he's going to get it wrong and misunderstand and get angry, and -

And Evan is _done_ with this. Suddenly he feels too exposed; skinless and pathetic and broken enough that it must be visible from space, or it _will_ be if he has to explain the whole crush-on-your-sister thing, the whole therapy letters thing, if he has to say it out loud.

And it's.

It's all pathetic and sad and worthless, but it's  _his_ . It's  _private_ , and he doesn't want to share it with his back to the wall in the janitor's closet of their  _shitty_ school, being stared down and coerced by Connor Murphy.

Connor Murphy, who is is soulmate, and whom he should share everything in his life with.

Okay, fine. Maybe he will, at some point.

But he won't do it now.

"It was nothing," he says, impressed at how calm he sounds. "It's none of your business, so leave it."

"We're supposed to be soulmates," Connor snaps.

"That doesn't mean - this isn't _yours_ ," Evan says, and the words come out of him in a desperate rush, blood from a stab wound dripping on the floor. "That letter wasn't for you, it has literally nothing to do with you, so just fucking - _leave_ it."

Connor stares down at him. His eyes narrow; his face turns stormy and hard.

"What the fuck ever," he says, and stalks off, leaving Evan alone in the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. heyyy thanks for all the hits/kudos/comments, yall are super sweet!  
> 2\. (obligatory) american high schools???????? what are they  
> 3\. look I know making out in janitor's closets is like. Peak High School Story stuff, but I still feel the need to give a shout-out to vinegar-and-glitter's alien galaxy makeout scene in [Oh, Humanity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949428/chapters/29598396), because it was all I could think about when I wrote the last half of this.  
> 4\. Yell with me about agency and bodily autonomy in soulmate aus (or just about anything else) @aibari on twitter/tumblr!


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